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Memorial

You come home to a house you’ve kept clean for a week solid after spring cleaning, but today you are tired. You drop your stuff on the floor and go to the kitchen to grab some snacks. You’ve worked hard this week. You decide you deserve a treat. You can’t remember the last time you had a milkshake. You scoop out the ice cream, Oreos, chocolate syrup, and some more ice cream, and hold the “blend” button. The blender decides that now is a good time to commit suicide and grind its gears, and not your milkshake, until you hear a pop and see a little wisp of smoke trail away from your newly departed appliance. You now understand the phrase ‘giving up the ghost,’ but you still don’t have a milkshake. You find yourself on the couch minutes later with a long spoon and the top half of the blender in your hand, scraping out the last bites of your milkstir, and realizing that the top half of the blender actually isn’t a bad way to eat a snack. It even has a handle and a spout. Over the next few weeks you keep using the top half of the blender to eat while the bottom half still sits plugged in on your counter top. No, it still doesn’t work. And now you’ve gotten used to it being there that it has just become part of the kitchen counter; a fixture, a statue, a memorial even. A few months later you invite friends over and one of them gets really drunk and asks you why you couldn’t just make margaritas from scratch when the blender is sitting right there. You tell him, “oh, it doesn’t work.” Like it’s supposed to not work. And he just stares at you for a little while because he’s obviously drunk, and nothing is wrong with you, or the blender.

As long as the bottom half of the blender is providing a “home” for the top half… then logic would dictate it IS working. (at something).
And if your “long spoon” doesn’t give out… no problem..!!
(just keep it away from you drinking buddy) ;)

One day one of your friends comes over and says ‘hey, I was at a yard sale this weekend and got you something.” They open a box and there staring you in the face is a blender. Someone else’s cast off, unwanted, homeless, blender. You don’t want another blender. You have one. See it over there on the counter. Still, they can’t take it back. It was a nice gesture. “Thanks. That was really nice of you.” You take the box, shielding your blender from seeing the other blender that has invaded it’s space. As soon as your friend leaves, you close up the box and put it in the closet. When the top half of the blender gets broken, you can release the other blender. It will be fine until then. Trust me. I have a bunch of yard sale boxes in a bunch of closets, from a bunch of well-meaning friends.